The Devourer and The Hunter
by Possum Man01
Summary: A Tyranid invasion could spell doom for the Ivanus star system and lead to the destruction of an entire Space Marine Chapter, can they react in time and organise a defence to repel the beasts from the void?


Astrathor was staring out across the Broken Planes as Midus approached him,

"Brother-Sergeant" ventured Midus, stopping a little way behind and to the left of Astrathor. The Dragon Hunter didn't reply at first, too lost in his thoughts, the intense light of triple suns throwing defined shadows onto the granite floor and making the cream-white of the Chapter colours look almost luminescent. The viewing dome was a great structure of stone and glass, a relic from before the Age of Strife that had survived through the millennia's of loss, discovery and treachery before being incorporated into the Dragon Hunters Chapter Monastery. It overlooked the Broken Planes of Almarthian, a nigh-on impassable magma field that stretched for several kilometres to the base of the Fire Spine volcanic mountain range, some of the peaks billowed smoke and ash into the bright sky, staining a thick band of grey and black to the North. Midus was about to speak again but Astrathor had already heard him,

"It is beautiful, is it not, Midus?"

The Dragon Hunter was confused by the question, which seemed so irrelevant, so un-important,

"Beautiful, Brother-Sergeant?"

"Aye" replied the old warrior, "Beautiful, does it not invoke a sense of wonder in your heart, a sense of pride to behold such a sight?"

Midus thought for a moment, trying to fathom why his Sergeant would ask him these things,

"I have never thought of the Planes as beautiful, Brother, I have merely observed them as a tactical asset to this Monastery, they protect a potential route of ground-attack."

Astrathor huffed lightly before he replied,

"You cannot live such a sterile life Midus; it does your soul no good."

"But I see no need for beauty and the like, I have no use for these concepts, I am a warrior, a defender of mankind."

"You would abandon your humanity just because you are a warrior?"

"I am an Astartes, Brother-Sergeant, I was created for war and because of that process I am no longer human." stated Midus, a hint of passion in his voice.

"No Midus," replied Astrathor, still staring through the glass, "You should not reject your humanity in such a way, by becoming an Astartes you have become more than human, your physical and mental state has been altered but you are still fundamentally human. For if there were no humans then there would be no Astartes." Astrathor paused for a moment,

"Think on this subject Brother, spend more time outside the Monastery rather than shut in the practise chambers so much, learn what it is to be human again."

Midus was still confused but accepted his Sergeants advice.

"Now, what of the initiates, Brother?" asked Astrathor, turning to face Midus.

A light began blinking on Adept Jung's console; he sat up and laid the data-slate he had been reading on the small table in his alcove, his brow furrowed and he scratched his ear in puzzlement as he looked at the readout that was displayed on the tiny screen in front of him. The data had to be wrong; he thought to himself, there wasn't a meteor storm due in this sector for another two months. Jung poked a button just below the screen and typed a short command into the console; the machine clicked and whirred for a minute or so before it spurted out a ream of paper with an intricate pattern of small holes in it. Jung didn't know what the point of the holes was and he didn't want to either, it wasn't his place to know. He tore off the paper, walked out of his alcove and up the centre isle to stand in front of a giant chair. He looked nervously at the two beings who stood on-guard at all times. In fact Jung had never seen them move and had considered the thought that they might just be statues, but their threatening presence scared him so much that he never wanted to find out if the beings were real or fake. Jung tore his eyes away from the large metal men and glanced at the chair before him. Huge bundles of wires snaked into the back of the chair, at the centre was a face, suspended in a tank of fluid with thin wires trailing through the fluid and into the face. The face twitched slightly, as if sensing Jung's now staring eyes.

"Avert your gaze, adept." ordered a mechanical voice from the shadows. The voice startled Jung and he fumbled the paper he was holding as an aide stepped into the light. The man was hunched over, the crimson robes that hid his figure brushed gently against the floor and the cog-toothed symbol on a chain around his neck swayed slightly as he moved forward with clicking steps.

"Please forgive me sire, I…I…I meant no disrespect." stammered Jung, bowing low to the aide.

"You know that the High Master does not wish to be disturbed." chattered the aide, his voice hissing from a glinting machine beneath his hood.

"I know sire, but I have brought this." Jung held out the ream of paper in a quivering hand. The aide snatched it from his grip with a thin set of callipers that dashed from under his robe and quickly pushed the strip of paper into a slot on an arm of the giant chair. The gigantic machine buzzed and clunked before a vox-output, below the tank of fluid, crackled with static. The aide lent closer to the vox-output as a burst of machine code issued from it.

"The High Master says it is of no import, log it and continue with your duties." said the aide as he turned to Jung.

"Of course sire." said the adept, bowing deeply before turning and walking back to his alcove.

Initiate Daktor stumbled across the rough black ground, the heat haze making the surface flicker slightly. Daktor could feel the heat of the boiling lava that flowed several meters below him. His throat was dry and his lips cracked, he stumbled again, the lack of water for twelve days was beginning to make him dizzy. A gurgling cry came from ahead of him, Daktor swung his combat shotgun up, and panning his aim across the top of the ridge he was approaching. Another shriek made him tense as his hearts began beating a vigorous tattoo inside his chest, this was the third encounter with the fire-beast in the past week, Daktor had already been wounded, a great gouge across his back now clotted and beginning to heal along with burns on his left arm, the skin pink and blistered. He reached the crest of the ridge, falling prone and scuffling to the summit on his belly, his shotgun held in front of him. Peering over, Daktor stifled a gasp at what he saw. Two of the fire-beasts were circling a much greater enemy, they snorted plumes of fire from their nostrils, the fuel of which came from the sacks of natural promethium nestled in their chest cavities, and pawed at the ground with their clawed feet while unleashing the gurgling cries that Daktor had heard earlier. The creature they faced was almost twice the size of the largest fire-beast, it had scratches and burns across its armoured carapace but seemed to have dealt more than its fair share of damage. A hoofed foot pressed upon the body of a third fire-beast, the animals' blood dripped from the two huge claws of the creature and gathered in a pool around it which steamed from the heat of the lava below the ground. Daktor had never seen such a creature in reality but was all too familiar with it from the chapter training manuals. Tyranicus Chameleo.

"Lictor!" hissed Daktor, checking his shotgun load. Six shells, a far cry from the twenty-four he had started with and not nearly enough to take down a Lictor, barely enough to kill two fire-beasts. Daktor cursed, he would have to bide his time, or make his way around but if the Lictor was victorious it would surely track him, recognising his scent even in the terrible heat of the lava fields. Daktor settled to wait, keeping a tight grip on his shotgun and his keen eyes on what was unfolding before him.


End file.
